Wordle #187 “Crime Scene”


Brenda Warren

Your sex yields against my palate,

Soul subtly transposed underneath the skin.

However, carefully we tend our scars

Anguish still mixes in and all that

Was sacred becomes taboo

When voiced by another man.

I scrape a fire from the toasted ashes

The screams within coagulating

At your freshly applied visage

Your eyes are the only hint I need,

Tomorrow will come but not for me.

In each chamber a hole just big enough

For a man’s fingers to slip inside.

A dribble of poison, a white dress

Liaison-red after applications lingers

In the nuances of my ruined flesh.